They say to write good poetry
You have to bare your soul.
You have to dig deep
Past your clothing, past your imperfections,
Through your skin.
All the way down to sinewy muscle and veins, and organs.
Past that, to where your blood flows to the steady beat of your heart.
Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub.
These are the things that are stolen from you
As you turn to dust that filters through the floorboards
And drifts into the cellar.
Hiding, rotting, floating through the hot humid air of a summertime
Storm.
Only he knows, only you know,
The surrender, the drifting from earth
Defying gravity and floating into the
Vacuum of space;
Cold and quiet
Millions of miles from the body
And you are looking down
Down
To
Where
You
Feel
Pity and
Pain,
Yet you feel nothing at all.
You wonder if this is what
Death feels like; if this
Is all there is.
Your breath is taken from you and
Your blood spills in droplets that
Float away.
You wonder if he cares
If he sees this broken flower
The crumpled petals in his hands
And the thorns pierce his hands
In protest
That is never heard…

Tajiri,
These flowers are perfect... And that's why they're not real. Real is better. Real is perfect. You're real and you're perfect just as you are. I wish you love and peace in your journey. Your poem touched my heart.

"Knowing that we can be loved exactly as we are gives us all the best opportunity for growing into the healthiest of people." Fred Rogers